


What The Water Gave Me

by alyyks



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Jango Fett, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Histories, Mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi, Minor Character Death, Movie: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Movie: Star Wars: Attack of the Clones AU, One Shot, One-sided Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker - Freeform, POV Padmé Amidala, Padmé Amidala-centric, Platonic Relationships, Politics, feat. Omar Berenko's epic Defense of Naboo as a leitmotiv, hints of mandalorian culture and customs, hints of naboo culture and customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 07:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20004448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyyks/pseuds/alyyks
Summary: “This is going to be awkward,” the man on the other side of the comm said, in a language that did not do awkward, only brutal efficiency. “I’ve been hired to take you out before the Military Creation Act vote.”“That is awkward indeed,” Padmé replied, in the Lake Country’s dialect, a language that had been kept alive for songs and poetry. “How are you planning this then?”----There is unrest in the Galactic Senate, at the heart of the Republic, and plans have been set into motion. Some of those plans involve secret armies and keeping people free.Padmé Amidala is at the center of many of those.





	What The Water Gave Me

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to antonomasia09 for the cheering and beta and encouragements, and to morgynleri for the initial prompt, 3 years ago, that started this ride. 
> 
> There's a pinterest board for this story because I have no self control and pretty images are pretty: [link to the pinterest board](https://www.pinterest.com/alyyks/sw-story-what-the-water-gave-me/).
> 
> The bits and pieces of Omar Berenko's epic _Defense of Naboo_ are all mine.

There was a group of ethcranes digging through the shallows of the lake, leaving faint ripples and trailing glittering drops of water every time their heads came up in graceful arcs. 

Padmé Amidala tore herself from her contemplation at the call of Varykino’s caretaker, Paddy Accu. She smiled easily at his approach. She had liked him from the moment they had met, almost twenty years ago: the man had seen his share of secrets and knew much more than he let on. His loyalty to Varykino and Naboo was unwavering. 

In the times they lived in, loyalty was worth more than anything in the galaxy.

“My Lady,” he called. “An urgent comm for you.”

She frowned, thanked him. It should have been Teckla or Nandi coming to warn her, but it was late enough in the morning that they were probably off to the closest farms to buy what they needed to prepare the next week’s meals. Padmé left the datapad she had been working on on the stone bench when she got up. The rising tensions, the separation from the Republic called for by hundreds of sectors spearheaded by Count Dooku of Serenno, and the call for a global militarized force wouldn’t, unfortunately, go anywhere. 

She took the comm in her office, cool and dark compared to the outside. The call came from a number known only to two people, and she was one of them. It brought a smile to her face at the same time it gave her insides a twist. The one who called never called for small talk. 

“This is going to be awkward,” the man on the other side said, in a language that did not do awkward, only brutal efficiency. “I’ve been hired to take you out before the Military Creation Act vote.” 

“That is awkward indeed,” she replied, in the Lake Country’s dialect, a language that had been kept alive for songs and poetry. “How are you planning this then?” There was no question of refusing the contract—his reputation was everything, and they had been waiting for an opportunity such as this one for a long time now. “And who hired you?” She had a private wager whoever had decided on the hit was tied to the Trade Federation in some capacity. Nute Gunray, while officially put aside from most of the decision-making after his latest mess, had wanted her dead since the Battle of Naboo. The other possibility was Count Dooku, the Separatist leader himself, through several intermediaries. And given the current shape of politics, it was possible it was Count Dooku through Nute Gunray, for the sake of convenience. 

“A human, didn’t give me a name. Educated, voice patterns on the male end of the spectrum, from the Core Worlds though he sounded like he had spent some time on the Outer Rim. He dropped enough hints to make it clear he was friendly to the Separatists, hinted at a previous employer giving my name.”

“Was he related—?” That question was a reach, but it had been years and they had no answers—

“To the Kamino job and Tyrannus? I can’t confirm that. Same planet or sector, possibly, the voice imprint failed.”

He was stalling on the plan. She wouldn’t like it then. “And the plan?”

“I take you out.” She waited for the rest of his explanation. “Are you particularly attached to your J-type? And you have one of the spies of the Reach affair still on staff.” 

She knew exactly what he had in mind now. Her expression wasn’t quite a smile—destruction was never something to be relished, but weighted in the grand scheme of things, it was the opening move they had been expecting and planning. “I find that I’ll need to be on Coruscant for that vote earlier than expected.”

+

The entire day—had it been only one day? At least she’d had the opportunity to sleep in her fighter during the hyperspace travel—had gone very fast, once she and her entourage had landed on Coruscant, two standard days after her conversation with her co-conspirator. His plan had gone without a hitch: the explosion had grounded her ship for the foreseeable future, though it had only taken out the ramp and landing gear. And of the casualties, it had killed only one person, one of her assistants who had assumed playing her double meant she was regaining the confidence she had lost after the Reach affair, and that she’d be able to get back to more in-depth spying from that point on. 

Padmé regretted that the woman had never been loyal or honest with her. She had been a smart communicator and a skilled strategist. 

Addressing the Senate almost immediately after the explosion had been something of a gamble and a last-minute idea. She had come out of the session with numerous messages of support, quite a number of them coming from Senators and Representatives who were not officially part of the Loyalist Committee. She passed the names of most of those to Bail Organa. Her friend kept true to Alderaan’s ideals of peace, but the last few months had taken their toll on his hopes. The new messages, the new lists, rekindled the light in his eyes.

Then, of course, had come the short meeting in the Chancellor’s Office. Short and useless; why they wouldn’t even hear the possibilities that Gunray or Dooku would want her dead despite the evidence was beyond her. Involving the Jedi was another baffling move, albeit one that opened more possibilities; the Coruscant Security Forces and Judiciary should have been more than enough to handle the investigation and the review of her security. 

She called her co-conspirator as soon as she was out of the Senate’s building and a bug search had been done through her vehicle and her apartments. 

“You’ve been a little too efficient,” she said, in the Lake Country’s dialect. ”They’re sending old friends to act as my bodyguards, and possibly as investigators.”

“Old friends or _old friends?_ ” He responded in his language, the emphasis marking his sarcasm on a word that could mean both someone who’d stand by your side and someone who’d stab you _in_ the sides. 

“The former. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.” The Jedi were thin on the ground, juggling with a thousand conflicts and territorial disputes on behalf of the Republic. Padmé could still barely believe it had been decided one of their best teams was to be dispatched to escort her, even though it worked to her and her co-conspirator’s advantage. It felt wasteful, like squandering resources best used elsewhere, and not like the Chancellor had probably expected it to be taken, which was as an honor and a bribe, to show her she was valued. 

The brief noise in answer was one of amusement. “Let them. I’ve muddled my tracks further. Anything they find will help us. Nice job addressing the Senate right away.”

“Any progress?” The man who had hired him to eliminate her had to have come from somewhere. 

“No. But interesting comm chatter on this side of the water.”

“Oh?” 

“They might have half the troops originally planned for the first order, but the ships and supplies numbers came in in full. Venator-class Star Destroyers, troop transports, fighters, tanks, the works.”

She was too good of a politician to let her feelings be known, even to him, even at news like this. “I have contacts at the Treasury,” she answered instead, thinking fast. If the money came from Republic space and associated systems, it would show somewhere. Then there was the matter of the shipyards: there weren’t that many offering enough physical space to build Star Destroyers class ships, and certainly even less that offered those services so quietly that there wouldn’t be a whisper of it reaching Coruscant or his ears. 

And if her contacts within the Republic didn’t come through, then she’d call favors of the ones directly at the Banking Clans. 

The call ended there. She found herself staring at the floor, dressing up a mental list of her contacts, and of who to send a message to first. 

“My Lady,” her guard called from the door. “Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and Padawan Anakin Skywalker are on their way up.” 

“Thank you, Cody.” He stayed at the door, uncharacteristically tense. “Is something wrong?” 

He frowned, the expression made formidable by the scar snaking around his left eye and temple. “I’d feel better if Rex and I were at your side, My Lady.” 

Padmé stood up from her desk, and walked to him. “Thank you. I know you and Rex will be close enough if anything happens. Allow me to offer you what little protection I still can in return.” 

It was written on his face that he wanted to protest, and that he knew that protesting would lead nowhere. He closed his eyes in resignation, and nodded again. 

She, Dormé, and Jar Jar, who had been introduced as the Gungan Representative attached to the Naboo Senator in the Senate at the same time she had became Senator, met with the two Jedi in the entrance hall. Captain Typho was at her back, and Rex and Cody were standing in the alcoves behind, hidden from direct view. 

Anakin had grown. It had been ten years, after all. The few newreels holos she had seen of him and Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t quite touch on the air around the two humans, the coiled power, the tension. It did not touch on Anakin’s brashness or his need to prove himself, fluffing himself up in front of her like an ethcrane ready to dance. Under other circumstances, she’d have allowed herself to be somewhat charmed. Now, it was… not quite annoying, not quite distracting. She didn’t have to feign tension and worry for her life—there was more than enough to be worried about—but she couldn’t quite show her irritation with the situation the way Kenobi was, openly scolding his student. 

Through the end of the afternoon and the evening, while she reviewed the vote anew, the messages from the other members of the Loyalist Committee, and the abundant volume of communication she was never able to quite make a dent in even with several assistants sending on only the most important ones through, gifts kept being sent up in groups of three or four. She let the handling of it to Dormé, who knew just as well as her how that particular game was played. The less subtle insults and threats, the unusual ones, or the odd bug, were carefully noted. 

Padmé had played this game for a long time. Sometimes, just sometimes, she managed to step out of the shadow of Queen Amidala, of Senator Padmé Amidala, and she could see the gifts for what they were, not their meanings: gorgeous arrangements of flowers, delicate foods, jewel-like fruits, bottles kept when the empires that had produced them had fallen, all costing more than a full ten-days of excellent meals in the best restaurants of Theed, than one of her Senate gowns, than one of the official Naboo statecrafts, sometimes priceless. 

The Jedi paced her apartments, reviewed the security, talked to her assistants and her pilots and her captain. Rex and Cody stayed out of the agitation while still remaining in the apartments, barely leaving a trace of their passage. 

“Your Excellency, if I may,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said, interrupting her from throwing her datapad to the floor—or at least interrupting her daydreaming about throwing it. Jar Jar had sent her several messages and discussions about the Military Creation Act after he had left the apartment for his own quarters and a few covert meetings, and the arguments of her opposition held no logic, only fearmongering and stroking the fires of several long-held grudges. It was more oil on the fires clamoring for separation in the face of the rampant corruption of the Republic. 

“Please,” she indicated the seat by her, “do interrupt me Master Kenobi, it might be an act of mercy.”

He laughed, a short sound she’d have liked to hear for longer. She found herself wondering if he still looked the same underneath the beard. Once… well, at some point, the good looks of Padawan then Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a particular object of conversations with her handmaidens, as a brief but safe distraction from the events surrounding them. He’d probably look the same as then, though more lined. Ten years left their marks, in many different ways—she was fortunate in that aspect that the Naboo were quite a long lived human-variant, who did not age as fast as others. Anything that left a mark, she blamed on the stresses of political life. 

“I would offer my help in these regards, but I’m afraid your skills in politics far surpass mine.” 

“Nonsense; if the words of many are to be believed, you have quite the silver tongue, Master Kenobi.” 

He only smiled and nodded, refusing to let himself be dragged into the tangent, preferring to cut to the matter at hand: “Two members of your entourage have made themselves scarce with great skill. They are the only ones I have yet to meet.” 

“They are not to be questioned.” Direct, blunt: an undiplomatic answer despite her tone and smile.

“Your Excellency—“

“No. This is my final say on the matter, Master Kenobi. They are beyond reproach—I trust them with my life and far more. And for this, they must continue to be unseen.” 

He clearly thought of pushing: it was in the way he was holding himself, his stillness. He conceded defeat with a nod at the same moment Ellé approached with a covered tray. Padmé gave her the datapad in exchange for it, then, “Please Master Kenobi, won’t you and Anakin join me for supper?”

+

Sleep was long in coming that night. Tension still—she had ‘let’ Anakin persuade her to pose as bait for the assassin that would inevitably come, a play neither Cody nor Rex nor Captain Typho had been happy with. Tracks muddled further or not, plans in place or not, she couldn’t help but worry. There was so much to keep in the balance still, so much to think about, so many people to worry about—

Artoo whirred quietly, soothingly, from his place near the head of her bed. 

“Thank you, my friend,” she told him, and she finally drifted off with her hand on the cool metal of the astromech’s body. 

She certainly did not go back to sleep after being woken up by the sounds of lightsabers and Obi-Wan jumping through her window. With both Jedi gone and her room being swept clean of bug remains and glass, well, the living room was secure, she still had work to do, and makeup was there for the express purpose of hiding the effects of a night cut short. Her apartments also had enough caffeinated beverages to keep her and her entourage on their feet as needed. 

Both Rex and Cody refused to leave her side. “Do not,” Rex had said from between gritted teeth, while Cody and Captain Typho and the rest of her security team swept through her bedroom and all other access points to the apartments, “do not ever tell us to stay away from you again.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement—of his demand, of his fear. They both knew it was not something she could promise. 

They stayed there at her sides as she got the news that the assassin had been taken out during their arrest in one of the lower streets, as both Council and Senate security decided she wasn’t safe on Coruscant. Of course she wasn’t safe on Coruscant, she was opposing a disturbingly popular military proposition and standing fast by diplomatic endeavors to reach the growing number of systems clamoring for separation, she was sending pointed inquiries into talks of corruption, she was leading a committee opposing the Chancellor and his abuses of power, and she had been in position to garner nothing but enemies since she had turned fourteen. The only silver lining she could see to the night was that the Military Creation vote had been pushed back, as several other Senators had also dealt with their share of threats and assassination attempts. And all those attempts, surely, they couldn’t be from _him_ too? He was good, but surely he couldn’t be in so many places at once. Padmé had chosen to be reassured by Cody’s minute head shake when they had heard of the failed attempt on Senator Hark’la’s life. Cody and Rex had their own ways of keeping in touch with her co-conspirator. 

Despite her protests, it was decided that the best course of action was to send her back to Naboo with Padawan Skywalker for escort, while Master Kenobi uncovered the identity of her would-be assassin and hopefully whoever it was who had paid them for her head. She hoped strongly for the latter, not the former, muddled tracks or not. She was good, but even she had only so many favors to call on in the event of her co-conspirator’s arrest, and the Jedi did not look favorably on outsiders to the Order telling them to reconsider their course of action, favors or no favors. One more thing to worry about, one that she’d keep for much later. 

Rex and Cody still remained out of sight while the Jedi were present. Anakin shadowed her every move, complaining much like the teenager he was, while she packed with Dormé. There was little she needed. Over the last three years, she had learned to live out of trunks, leaving enough appropriate clothing in all the places she was expected at: the Senate gowns stayed on Coruscant, she had a few casual changes at her parents’ in Theed, a few formal attires in the palace, a mix of casual and formal at the villa. For the trip, she’d really only need a set that would travel well and would hide her concealed blaster. The clothing she was adding to the suitcase she’d take was as much misdirection and a few more possible disguises as one more prop. Nobody travelled for apparent leisure or work without baggage, especially on a trip from Coruscant to Naboo. 

She was going back to Naboo, and soon enough she’d be back to Coruscant, with more information, with the vote firmly in her favor. She had drafted a message already—the near-assassination in lieu of a regular wake-up call had been good for something—that Dormé would send at the right time to the rest of the Loyalist Committee and several other Senators who were inclined toward their view of things. 

The message to the Treasury that she had sent first thing after her last conversation with her co-conspirator had yet to be answered. 

So many things were out of her hands. This was the part she had the least patience for, the waiting, hoping that things, people, and information, would come through to go on to the next step.

There was change coming. A long time ago, Onaconda Farr, Rodia’s Senator and a long-time family friend, had been the one to confirm her instincts: “You’ll know change. You’ll feel it coming. In fight, and in politics—you have good instincts, Padmé. Listen to them.” 

Her head said to stay on Coruscant, her instincts screamed that change was coming, and she was walking toward one of the charter lines dressed as a merchant woman of the Naboo Southern Seas community, with Anakin by her side, Artoo behind her, and Cody and Rex already part of the crowd.

+

Anakin was brash, clearly needed and wanted to prove himself, and he was still dancing in front of her like a mating ethcrane. She could see that he liked being in charge or the idea of it, too, after his little outburst in the Throne Room in front of Queen Jamillia. She hoped he held himself better in the company of his master, but then, Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn hadn’t been the most respectful of men either. Maybe that attitude was taught to all Jedi, despite it being quite rude and a poor show for diplomatic endeavors; only Obi-Wan seemed free of it, but she hadn’t spent enough time in his presence to know if he merely knew how to hide it better.

Padmé did not go to visit her parents in Theed. Their residence was too much of an open secret. She had left them a comm message before leaving Coruscant, warning them that she’d be out of communication range but that she hoped to be free for their monthly call and catch up. 

It was probably petty of her to enjoy Anakin’s slight flinch of surprise as Rex and Cody entered the large speeder that would bring them to the Lake Country, the end of the trip to Varykino made in boats. At least he read the situation correctly, understood Artoo’s whistled greeting and did not try to do anything rash like raise his weapon to them. 

“My Lady,” they said, in the Lake Country’s dialect. 

“Accu has the house ready for you and your guest, and all your communications have been re-rerouted as per blackout protocols,” Cody added. The ramp closed on his heels, the transport vibrating oh-so-slightly for departure.

Rex gave her the secured datapad he carried: the answer from her contact at the Treasury had come through during the flight. There would be at least some work she’d be able to do while at the villa, despite the blackout protocols. Only the Queen and Eirtaé, who had stayed on as political aide at the Palace after Padmé had finished her term, had the key to override it and contact her directly at the villa while she pretended to have simply vanished from Coruscant, with no communication trace to find her. The only other person who’d be able to reach her would be her co-conspirator. 

“Thank you,” she said in the same language. “Will you go ahead and comm to make sure when we arrive that my personal ship is ready to go at a moment’s notice?” 

Neither of them looked pleased, and Anakin looked annoyed to be kept out of the conversation. He was annoyed by the transport too: he had made his opinion of the lack of cover of the large canopies, there to enjoy the views during the journey, quite clear. Anakin hadn’t seemed to realize the transparisteel windows were bomb- and blaster-proof. It’d take a cruiser shooting directly at the canopies to shatter them. Naboo, after the Battle, had kept its spirit; Queen Amidala had made sure of it, working closely with the Gungan High Council. But never again during her lifetime would their own aesthetics and way of life be used against them. 

“I am not going to go off and leave on my own, but I want to be ready to go as soon as it’ll be safe to,” she said, still in the Lake Country’s dialect. Then she switched back to Basic, “Padawan Skywalker, this is Rex and Cody Adate—they’ll be escorting us to the villa.”

“I thought _I_ was your bodyguard, Your Excellency,” he replied guardedly. 

“They are far, far more than bodyguards,” she said. 

+

It had been only three days and she was back to the villa. It felt like time thrown to the void. Padmé took an instant on the first terrace to close her eyes and breathe, smelling the fresh air, hearing the murmur of water everywhere. 

She caught herself daydreaming of never having to leave again, of being able to leave the heavy Senate gowns and the symbols of power behind her and being able to stay here, her back bared to the warm breeze, being able to have the freedom to go where she pleased, however she pleased. She couldn’t, of course. She might be only one person, one Senator, but she could make a difference—she did make a difference. She had to keep believing it. 

There was a carving in the stone over a door in the oldest part of the house, that spelled in the archaic version of the Lake Country’s dialect, “Evil triumphs when one good being keeps silent.” It was suspected it had been commissioned by one of the previous owners of Varykino, the poet Omar Berenko, roughly at the same time he had written the epic _Defense of Naboo_ , though both pieces had been written in different languages… Thinking of the poem made her frown. _Hear not the clamor, for your duty beckons/Yours is to lead and theirs is to defend_ — It seemed too appropriate, for too many times in her life. 

Anakin seemed more interested in her bared back—she had changed in the transport into clothes more appropriate to the weather and place—than in the security of the house. For an instant, caught in the laser-like focus of that interest, she thought he was going to move to kiss her, and she couldn’t think about stopping it. Teckla broke the spell that had fallen on them by announcing a light lunch spread was set on the northern patio. 

She declined, instead took her lunch in the corner room she had made her office, Rex shadowing her, Cody gone to make the call to prepare her ship. Anakin choose to walk the grounds. 

She still had the japor pendant a kind little boy who had saved them and was leaving his mother and his planet behind had given her. Anakin was brash, but he was also quick witted and a good conversationalist, observant—and in many ways still a very young boy, younger than any Naboo his age for all he had had to grow up very fast both on Tatooine and Coruscant. There was still the shadow of something in this interest of his, something that was very much not right for now, and possibly would never be right. Moreover, it certainly wasn’t like her to be so caught in someone’s else focus as to forget herself, her place, her duty, the situation they were in and the people who relied on her—and her co-conspirator. 

She turned the communicator that was her only link to her co-conspirator in her hands after she finished her lunch, her mind cast on unspoken promises.

The message from the Treasury had only held the most basic of information. She could have found most of this by herself, through the public accesses. In and of itself, this was a clue. Not just that her public communications were under surveillance, which she and her entourage knew, but that her contacts there were not reliable anymore. She would have to use other ways to get information, once out of the blackout protocols.

Change was coming—no, change was already there, it was only keeping to itself for now, hiding under the surface like a Sando monster laying in wait to snap at its prey. 

Things were so much simpler when there was only one clear target to fire at. 

+

The next day was tense: there was nothing she could realistically do and she disliked the helplessness of her situation, Anakin didn’t sleep well and was more short tempered than the previous days, Cody was fretting for a reason he kept to himself, which made Rex fret in turn, she missed Dormé and Ellé and worried about them and about what or who Master Kenobi would find at the end of his trail. She had a feeling any meeting between the Jedi and her co-conspirator would not end well. 

Proposing a picnic for the four of them, Rex, Cody, Anakin and her, was both a foolish decision and a relief. Weighting all the pros and cons of the situation—only a few people knew she was on Naboo, and it wasn’t like the Great Waterfalls’ Corrie offered a lot of places to hide, which was both good and bad—she decided that a change of scenery would do them all good. 

It was, in the end, surprisingly pleasant. For a moment it seemed that they all forgot who they were and reverted to who they should have been: young people on a beautiful planet and with nowhere to be for several hours. 

The food Teckla and Nandi had prepared was delicious, and all the more so for being shared under open skies. Anakin decided to run after a grazing nerf with Rex’s encouragement, with mixed results but peals of laughter. Cody let himself be caught, and she playfully wrestled him into laying down in the grass and relaxing for a few moments.

For one day, they could put things aside.

+

Cody woke her up in the middle of the night, his expression happier and more relieved than she had seen in a long time. 

“He left a message at the dead drop,” he told her, and it was enough to make her sit up, all thoughts of sleep leaving her.

“What happened, what did he say?” 

Cody smiled. “He’s out, and coming straight here with Boba.” 

Her joy was a fire coursing through her limbs. When she grabbed Cody to hug him, he hugged back just as fiercely. 

She hadn’t gone back to bed after that. She couldn’t do anything to their plans now that they were in motion, but she could watch the sun rise on the lake and wait for more news, wait for him. 

That and find Anakin. He had slept badly again; she had been able to hear mutters and movement coming from his room when she had gone out to the balconies once she had dressed herself. While he answered her knock, he evaded her questions with a declaration he needed to meditate before sunrise. His claim that Jedi did not have bad dreams sat uneasily with her. 

The light rising over the lake was a stunning sight. Again, she idly wished to never have to leave again, to never have to don the Senate gowns, to be able to stay here, the wish just as foolish as the first time she had formed it, even more foolish now that times of change was upon them. 

In the early morning light, far off objects were distorted enough that she did not see the boat crossing the lake until it was nearly to the shores of the villa. She descended the stairs two by two, Rex and Cody right on her heels. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Anakin staying on the balcony above and behind them. 

_He’s here and he’s alive and Boba is with him_ , and she heard Rex and Cody cry out _Vod!_ and it was the culmination of several years of work, several more for him and—she embraced Jango Fett, and he embraced her in return, rich blue fabrics against firm cold armor trimmed with the same color. 

“Are you alright? What happened?” she asked him, slipping back automatically in the Lake Country’s dialect, her hands tracing the lines of his face, the old and new scars, the marks from sleep lost and never recovered. 

Jango smiled, small and sharp like a knife, put his forehead against hers. He answered back in Basic. “Kamino was found by Kenobi, we escaped during his talks with the cloners. Wolffe planted all our information as planned and is leading your Jedi friend right to Geonosis. Whatever happens next is out of our hands.”

There were many possibilities from this point on, too many to think about, to try to control, to exert damage control over. There were just as many things she could still do, that _they_ could still do. 

“The others?” she asked, in Basic. There was no point to using secret languages now that they could see each other, now that the plans were in motion. Next to them, Rex had hauled Boba over one shoulder, to his feigned chagrin and Cody’s amusement. They hadn’t seen each other in two years. They were all three the same chronological age and looked nothing like it. 

“One thousand, five hundred and twenty-three cut and run with the original diversion. I expect a regiment’ll be sent after them. Half the commandos followed their sergeants for now, more will fall through the cracks. We’ll have initial numbers in a ten-days at the maximum.” 

She nodded, forehead to forehead, his skin warm against hers. “Good.” She took a step back, her hands slipping to hold on to his forearms. “Let’s have breakfast. We can keep planning with full stomachs.” 

He tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, in a way that would allow her to reach for his blaster and would leave his right hand free to draw the blaster on his other side. She couldn’t stop, did not want to stop, the warm feeling that bloomed at his nonverbal declaration of his trust in her fighting skills, and of his trust in her. 

From his seat now on Cody’s shoulder, Boba reached to squeeze her shoulder, his grin large and delighted. “It’s good to see you again, Padmé!”

She grinned back, her free hand ruffling his curls. “It’s good to see you too, Boba.” She kissed him on both cheeks, laughing at his half-hearted squirming. 

When she turned back to the villa, Anakin was not on the balcony anymore.

+

Nandi had set up the breakfast spread on the northern patio, which had easy access to the shore and the rest of the island. Jango slowed his pace, letting his son and Rex and Cody get to the food first. 

“The last samples were destroyed the moment we breached atmosphere,” he told her, not looking at her. He was looking at two young men presenting new foods to a little boy. 

She squeezed his arm. Without fresh samples of Jango’s DNA, the cloners “could not ensure the production of perfect products,” to put it in their words. It had been one of the reasons Jango had been strong-armed into staying on Kamino all those years. 

And then, in the language made for brutal efficiency, he told her: “The oldest are fifteen, not ten.” 

For an instant, the implications of those words did not register. Cody was holding a plate of sliced fruits for Boba, Rex handing them the spices and sugars mix that went with it. The breeze was cool, but the sun was warm, announcing a day of good weather. Tula birds were singing up on the trees. 

Then it did register, in a rush. 

They—the nebulous entity, or entities, that had been hard at work for years to engineer a cloned army the Republic would have no knowledge of and all the consequences of this—had been at work for much longer than either of them had realized. They’d had Jango’s DNA samples for at least fifteen years, certainly for longer than Jango had known of their existence and had officially worked for them. For all the Kamino DNA samples were destroyed, there probably were more, somewhere else, somewhere neither of them knew about. 

“Where are they?” She asked—asking about the samples, and the oldest clones. Despite keeping her voice low, Rex turned and frowned at her, and she indicated all was well. He returned to his brothers and the breakfast slowly, a line between his eyebrows.

“Unknown. As for the boys, Mandalore sector, if all went according to plan. The oldest who survived are split in Nulls, Alpha, and Commando squads—all had mandalorian trainers, who agreed to get whoever wanted an exit out and with a good base to start from once the initial training contracts were done.” 

She closed her eyes. _The oldest who survived_. She doubted that would be the end of the horrors they would uncover, that she would learn about. 

Strong footsteps on carrara tiles made her open her eyes. Anakin held himself at the edge between patio and the house proper, standing tall and dressed in all his robes. It made him look taller and wider—he was set to the ground like a quercus tree that no wind or rain would move. She couldn’t see his lightsaber. 

“I’d like an explanation of the situation, Your Excellency.” He was staring at Jango as he said this. 

By the table where the breakfast was spread, Rex and Cody had turned to face Anakin, standing far enough from each other to not get into each other’s way if they needed to move, Boba safely behind them and out of reach. 

Padmé squeezed Jango’s arm. This could turn into something bad. She reached for the careful mask she had perfected as Queen, and the even voice she used every day in committees to reach the most stubborn of Senators and other politicians. 

“I was under the impression,” Anakin continued, “that no-one was to know you were here, and that no-one was able to come here while you were also present.” 

“Padawan Skywalker, might I introduce my dear friend Jango Fett and his son Boba? Jango,” she turned her head deliberately away from the coil of tension at the edge of the patio, looking Jango in the eyes, “this is Anakin Skywalker; he was instrumental in the victory of Naboo over the Trade Federation.” 

Jango narrowed his eyes, but followed her play. He nodded curtly at Anakin. “Sharp bit of flying, that. _Oya_.”

How much more could she say? Master Kenobi knew about the clones by now, and about Jango’s existence, and probably about the role Jango had apparently played in the last few days, if not the last few years on the cloning project. How soon would Kenobi contact Anakin with that information, how much would the Jedi Master even say to his student? Boba had stepped closer at the mention of flying; Cody spread one hand to bring Boba back behind him.

“ _Oya_ … mandalorian, isn’t it?” Anakin asked Jango. 

“Yes. Although it’s more a cultural background, these days.” There was still pain and guilt and bitterness in his voice at the reminder—emotions she suspected only she, Rex, and Cody would hear. 

“Have you been on Coruscant recently?” 

“Is this an interrogation?” Padmé interrupted them. “Because if it is, I must insist that the Republic laws be followed. No information exchanged without the proper procedures can be used in subsequent prosecution.”

“Jedi are agents of Republic law,” Anakin snapped, never looking away from Jango. “Now answer my question!”

“He will do no such thing until he has legal representation, unless you are able to somehow be two people at the same time,” Padmé said without raising her voice. 

“Can’t you do it? A Senator can take this role according to the situation.” 

“Why, Padawan Skywalker, that would be a clear conflict of interests.” 

He looked at her at that, really looked at her, at the way her hand was still in the crook of Jango’s arm, at the rich blue of her dress that echoed the colors of Jango’s armor, of his helmet hung at the belt. His eyes went from Jango to Cody and Rex—to the obvious similarities in their faces and their stances, to Boba kept safely behind them.

Padmé squeezed Jango’s arm before letting go and stepping up to the angry Jedi in their midst. “Anakin, could I have a word?” She led him inside without waiting for his answer. 

When she stopped, she wasn’t quite out of reach of Jango’s hearing—especially if he put on his helmet. 

“Why are you protecting that man?” 

Padmé looked back at Anakin with the flattest stare she could muster. She could very much understand his questions—he was supposed to be her bodyguard, however little she actually needed protection in this situation. But it was the undertone of his questions, the one she couldn’t quite put a name to yet, that she didn’t like. “Rest assured that no-one I didn’t want in this villa would reach it. Moreover, this house belongs to the Naberrie family. I am more than within my rights to open it to whomever I please, without asking for permission from an external party who was imposed on me.” 

“Not when you are supposed to be in hiding, not when there’s a risk of bounty hunters going after you!” He pointed toward the patio. “That was the person who killed the bounty hunter who tried to _assassinate_ you, before she could give us any names!”

“How do you know Jango was there?” 

“It was the same armor.”

She tilted her head to the side, refusing to take a single step back from the young man—the Jedi—looming in front of her. “Are you aware of how many people wear Mandalorian armor, whether they are Mandalorian or not? Having seen the armor once is not enough to place my guest at some point during or around the time of my attempted assassination.” She paused. “Anakin, I know you are here to be my bodyguard, and that you have my safety at heart. That I am a target has never been in doubt, but I am not targeted by Jango, that I can assure you.” 

“Without giving me any proof.”

“I’ve known Jango for several years. He is a _dear_ friend, and I trust him with my life.” This was a gamble. She hoped the emphasis would be giving Anakin something to think about, reinforcing the message she had sent with the color of her dress, her obvious delight at Jango’s presence, and that it would be enough to reign him in for the moment. The last thing they needed in this situation was a Jedi going off on their own or trying to take down Jango for any reason. 

Anakin straightened up, back rigid and face shuttered. Ah. So he seemed to have gathered her clues and came out with jealousy. 

Jealousy, she could deal with. Mostly with continuing to making it very clear that she considered Anakin a friend she’d like to make the acquaintance of again, and not as a romantic or sexual partner. 

“I’ll have to inform the Council of this development.” He raised his voice, looking over her shoulder to where Jango was standing. “I’ll thank you to stay on the premises.” 

Jango’s voice’s answered, the picture of cooperation: “I have nowhere else to be.” 

Jealousy, Padmé decided, was really an ugly expression on Anakin’s still-boyish face. He turned around without another word. 

“Artoo will give you access to the villa’s communications,” she called after him, a not-so-subtle reminder that he was in her house, and that they were supposed to lay low. Sometimes the subtle wordplays and power balances she was used to in the Senate were overrated—now was one of those times. She walked back outside. 

“Should one of us follow him?” Cody asked her. Padmé looked up at him, at his frown. He was looking at the interior of the villa pensively. 

“No. He is free to call the High Council and report whatever he sees fit.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, My Lady.” 

A glance at Jango, and Rex still standing in front of Boba, and she could see they were on edge, ready for fight or flight, ready to defend her. 

“You think he could hurt me—and hurt us,” she stated. 

“Between the way he acted in your apartment, his body language on the way here, and now this, I think he’s a teenage human with a crush—a teenage human with an inflated ego who built up an idea of you in his head. To add to that, he might not be a full Jedi yet, but he has the Force and abilities we do not have.” Cody let his statement stand on its own. 

Padmé turned back to look at the darkened inside of the villa, breathed. 

“Doesn’t he have the ear of Palpatine?” Rex had walked closer, standing on her other side. 

She frowned, turned Rex’s statement over in her head and the last few days. “Do you think he was deliberately placed here?” Padmé asked him, an eyebrow raised. “For distraction?” 

“Can’t discount that possibility.” Rex was a little too good at staying blank faced and letting none of his inner thoughts show. “Or maybe he’ll just go tell the Chancellor everything he’s seen once we’re done here.” 

“It’s a little late to put this jumping doll back in its box,” she said. She sighed. “Cody, you are right. Keep an eye on him in the manner you think best.” 

Cody and Rex held a silent conversation before nodding at her. It was Rex who left for the inside of the villa. 

Padmé turned back to the breakfast spread, to the plates of cut fruits and the carafes of hot beverages, to Jango always at the ready and Boba who was just a child and, in a perfect world, would not have to worry about anything. But this was not a perfect world, and Boba worried, a line between his eyebrows. 

“I’m sorry for the interruption,” she told them, Cody two steps back and to the right of her.

“It’s not you who should be apologizing,” Jango replied. He shook his head. “That kid has a direct line to the Chancellor? I find that surprising.” 

“I think Chancellor Palpatine took an interest in him after the Battle of Naboo. A young Force-sensitive boy coming from an Outer Rim planet who helped take down the invasion of the newly-elected Chancellor’s planet? It seems straight out of a holonovel.” 

They sat after picking their choice of foods, and for a moment Padmé was struck with the surreality of the scene: on the other side of the small round table Jango Fett was sitting, in his armor save for his helmet, Boba next to him, Cody on his other side. He was there, on Naboo, their plans triggered and hundreds, thousands of people free to leave to make their own way through the galaxy, hundreds more to follow. 

“What are you thinking about?” Boba asked her in between bites of spicy sugared fruits. 

Padmé smiled at him, then looked at Jango. 

“About the future,” she said. Jango’s half-smile was visible behind his caf cup. 

+

Later, in her office, they were not smiling anymore. She had added the last observations he had of Kamino and the number and apparent make of the most recent ships that had arrived to be crewed with clones. In between the time of their last communication and his arrival on Naboo, the cloners had become tight-lipped around him. The number discrepancies between the clones who were ready and the number that should have been ready based on the ships had been clear, and Jango had not been trusted anymore— “Not,” he had said with a grim smile, “that my leash was very long in the first place.”

“I reached a dead-end on the Treasury trail for now,” Padmé shared, showing him the message she had received. “The communication blackout makes following up on other contacts complicated.” 

Jango studied the message for a minute, brow furrowed. “Treasury is implicated, then.”

“The Treasury itself, or people high enough in the offices there to act as the Treasury itself without any oversight.” Padmé shook her head. “There’s been too much fracturing and dissension at the heart of the offices of the Republic to be sure of anything. The Chancellor and his internal politics have not been helping in that regard.”

Jango placed the datapad back on the desk, studying her. “And you still believe the institution is salvageable?” 

Padmé leaned back in her chair, elbows resting on the polished arms and fingers laced together in front of her chest. In any other place, that chair which dated back to Berenko’s time would have been an exhibition piece, an antique, there to be admired but not touched. In Varykino, it was a piece of furniture there to be used, a piece of history linking past and present. The past was not something to look at from behind a sheet of transparasteel, it was building blocks used to actively create the present and future. 

_Watcher, worker, forget not/the toil on which you sit_ —

“I believe in democracy. I believe we can do more, as a galaxy, by working together—that we can protect people, and help, and be the structure needed for the physical and economic and cultural exchanges of a thousand planets.” She looked up at him, standing on the other side of the desk. “Is the Republic this democracy, or has it turned into the very evil it was built to destroy and replace five millennia ago?” 

He held her gaze, then gestured with his chin at the datapad. “Some people certainly have been hard at work to turn it into everything but a democracy.” 

“Yes.” She sighed, leaning her head on one hand. “I wish I could only talk more with the Separatist leaders. Some share the same concerns I have, and there could be a peaceful resolution to this, before it has the opportunity to turn into an armed conflict.” She paused. “More of one,” she conceded. There had been attacks and fights for years, although nothing formally declared.

Jango walked around the desk to her side, leaning back on the polished wood so that their legs touched. “And the others are the very people who are at the heart of the rot.” 

Padmé watched him. This was not the first time they were having a version of this conversation. They both knew the shapes of their arguments, of their defenses, the stories behind their drives. 

It felt different, having it here, in her villa, on her planet, Jango as free as he could be—Padmé as free as she could be. 

She reached out, and the durasteel of his cuisse was cool under her hand. His hand, on top of hers, was much warmer. 

+

She didn’t see Anakin for the rest of the day. Artoo informed her that he had indeed called the Jedi Council, and that the Council, with no hard proof, had told him to remember his duty, stay put, keep an eye on everyone who was at the villa, and wait to hear from Master Kenobi. Anakin had not been pleased. 

Boba was delighted by the lake and being able to swim in waters that were not a constant raging storm. Rex was with him in the lake, he and Cody having switched duties after the lunch hour. 

Rex’s report had been much the same as Artoo: Anakin was not pleased. Rex had tried to drag him into a conversation, but every attempt had been rebuffed, a few with baseless accusations. The camaraderie Rex and Anakin had started to develop at the Great Waterfalls’ Corrie with dares and feats of agility had been killed in its infancy. 

The ethcranes she had watched digging in the shallow only a few days ago were gone, alarmed by the loud splashes of Rex and Boba rough-housing in the water. 

“Why don’t you join them?” Jango asked, sitting next to Padmé on the stone bench. 

“Why don’t you?” She had taken off her shoes, her feet bare in the cool grass. Swimming did sound good, but the last time she had swum for pleasure was before she had even been elected Princess of Theed, and she couldn’t help but feel the moment she’d go in the lake, something, someone, would need her. 

“Never much enjoyed it,” he said. 

The silence between them stretched after that, a companionable absence of words that was not devoid of communication, laughter and splashes of water in the background. 

Padmé breathed. 

“Share my room tonight,” she said, the words coming out like jumping off the rocks to dive blindly into the deeper waters behind the island. 

Jango looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, did not move. 

“You’re aware that I don’t—“ Jango said, the rest of his sentence trailing off. 

She nudged him. “I’m very aware that you don’t,” Padmé replied, “and that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking you to share my room, my bed, because it’s intimacy, companionship, safety…” She looked up at him, “Trust.” 

Jango swallowed, looked at the water before turning ever so slightly to her. “I trust you. I trust your skills, your drive. I trust you with my life, and with the life of my son.” She held her breath. This, those words, coming from him? It was everything short of wedding vows, and she was aware without having the details of his that neither of their cultures viewed those lightly. He reached out, his hand brushing her cheek, fingers in her loose hair. “I’m just a simple man making my way in the galaxy.” 

It wasn’t much of a stretch to lean into him and lay her forehead against his. “You are many things, Jango Fett, but just a simple man is not one of those.”

They breathed in unison for a moment. 

This, they could have, this—a bubble in time, both all too aware of the galaxy that kept on turning, of the trials ahead of them, of the ones in progress. 

+

Sleeping in the same room, in the same bed, would be something of an experiment, for both of them. Her few relationships had been heavily codified, nothing that leant itself to simply enjoying being with the other person. Even with Sabé, their relationship had been about their duty first, and a rare moment to breath and be together second. 

She didn’t know much about Jango’s history, aside from that he did not have sex and generally didn’t sleep with people. She doubted the last decade of his life had leant itself to finding a partner. 

He followed her after dinner, and she could almost feel the warmth of his gaze on her back. It felt a little like a dream, that he was there, walking in the corridor of the Varykino villa, on Naboo, near her. 

She opened the door of her room, and stepped through, before turning around to invite him in. He surprised her by laying his hand on her arm. He had barely passed the threshold. 

She raised herself on her toes to be at face-height with him, laying her forehead against his. Like this, he was not that much taller than she was, and he was not using his height against her like too many people tended to. His embrace was tentative—and warm, and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the solidity and steadiness of him, feeling his breath going in and out of him. 

“Let me go get Boba tucked in,” he finally said. She nodded. 

Watching him leave her room left her with a heady, warm feeling in her chest, not unlike the one she had felt when he had arrived. 

The night air was cool, an effect of the winds over the lake. She picked a sleeping outfit of a square top with short sleeves and wide-legged pants: it was more practical, and cut for ease of movement, than the elaborate nightgowns and dressing gowns hanging in the dressing room. She was all too aware this night might be the only peace they would be able to have for the foreseeable future, and it might not even last the whole night. In a pinch, that ensemble could double as day clothes. 

Then she started the long process of undoing the pins her hair was kept in, waiting for Jango. 

Jango came back a while later into the room in a long-sleeved shirt that was open at the throat and soft-looking pants. He was barefoot. Somehow, that detail was tantalizing. 

She stopped brushing her hair. Jango walked to her and to the foot of the bed she was sitting on. 

“Can I?” He said, holding out his hand. 

She gave him the brush and he sat behind her, close enough that she could feel his body heat. He started moving, brushing her hair with long slow strokes. She let her eyelids fall shut. 

“Boba?” She asked him after a while. 

“Excited he gets to stay with Artoo and Rex,” he said. He put the brush aside, and passed his hands through the strands, tugging lightly—after a few moments, she recognized the movement as him braiding her hair. She made an inquisitive noise.

“I did that with my sister,” he said.

Padmé breathed in. Jango had barely talked about his family before this day. She knew they were dead, and that he had followed Mandal’ore Jaster Mereel after that—but never any detail, never their names, never any memories. She reached back, putting her hand on his knee. 

“It’s been a while, so it might not be to your usual standards,” he continued after a beat. 

She squeezed his knee.

+

Padmé half-woke up when Jango left the bed. They had gravitated toward each other during the night, leaving some point of their bodies touching, but nothing that would constrict their movements in the event they needed to jump out of bed. 

“Go back to sleep,” he told her, his lips against her temple. 

She groaned into the pillow before turning around and leaning into him. “Why are you up?” 

“Planet lag. I’m going to go for a run.” 

She hummed in answer, blinked. The faint light spilling from the window was tinted blue. “Don’t go in the water, that’s the time feela eels surface to eat.” 

“I won’t.” 

She went back to sleep, or at least into a doze. The blue-tinted light from outside was brighter the next time she opened her eyes. There was a noise coming from outside her door, further away in the corridor—like muffled cries, coming from Anakin’s room. Three nights in a row now. Padmé frowned at the ceiling. She could try asking about it again. There wasn’t much stopping her from doing so. 

She got up, threw a shawl over her outfit, went out. 

Anakin was not in his room, the door left ajar. She found him on the same balcony overlooking the lake she has seen him the day before, steady in his stance facing the hints of sunrise, clearly meditating. She hung back. Rex was there too, in the half-shadow of an alcove designed just for this purpose, for guards and eavesdroppers to hide in. He nodded at her and she nodded back.

“How long?” Anakin asked, startling her. 

“How long what?” she said, stepping on the balcony proper.

“How long have you been sleeping with a bounty hunter?”

“My private life is of no matter to you, Padawan Skywalker.” 

He whirled around. “It is when you are being targeted and clearly hiding information!” 

Padmé stood tall, calling the composure she used as Queen and Senator to her like an armor. This conversation would be going nowhere. “I was concerned for your well-being after hearing you have a nightmare again. But as it seems we can not achieve a civil exchange, this conversation is done.” 

He sneered. The expression did not suit him. “I see my mother being killed, _Senator_ ,” he spat, “And as it seems you have the situation in hand and the Council doesn’t care about you hiding information, I will be taking my leave of you and this mission and go save her.”

Padmé made a move of surprise, her head tilting to the side. “Shmi? Why would she— she’s not on a run, there’s no reason she’d be in danger.” Or more danger than the usual on Tatooine. Fear gripped her. She took a couple steps. “How do you know, and what information do you have?”

It was Anakin’s turn to be surprised. “What? How do you know where my mother is?”

“She’s been working for the Refugee Relief Movement, did you not get her messages?” 

“What?” Anakin was clearly taken aback. He looked completely lost, and far too young. 

Padmé took a gamble and laid her hand on his forearm, looking at him in the eyes. “Come with me, and let’s talk.” 

She steered him to the informal kitchen, Rex following. Once there, she made Anakin sit and poured caf for all three of them, refusing to answer his questions until they were set. 

“One thing at the time, Anakin. I assumed you were in contact with Shmi — it seems I was mistaken, I’m sorry.” 

“Messages you said, what messages?” 

“Shortly after the Battle of Naboo, it was painfully clear that many Naboo citizens were missing, and most probably had been sold as slaves on the Rim. Part of the rebuilding effort went into creating the Refugee Relief Movement, to find our fellow citizens…but also because I remembered a little boy who gave without thinking, and a long discussion I had with his mother, who gave me shelter without asking for anything in return, and opened my eyes to many terrible realities of the galaxy I had been sheltered from.”

“The Refugee Relief Movement is a slave running trail.” Anakin exhaled. “Why don’t you just call it that?”

She saw Rex shake his head out of the corner of her eye. She felt like doing much of the same. Anakin was living in Coruscant, was a known protégé of the Chancellor, had been running all over the galaxy with a master known and appreciated by the political spheres. That he still didn’t know this, despite, or because of, his history and his current upbringing did not reassure her on to the state of education and economic knowledge of the Jedi. “Because freeing slaves and working against the economics of slavery is not a popular topic in the Republic. Slavery is upheld by far too many in the Senate itself.” 

“How long… how long has my mother been free?” 

“Eight years. She choose to stay on Tatooine. It’s her home, and it’s where she said she can do the most good.” Padmé took a sip of her caf, hoping the motion would remind Anakin he had a mug in hand as well, and that it could be used for more than staring at it. “She sent a message to the Jedi Temple the very day she was freed.”

He looked up at her. “How do you know?” 

“I was there.” At his complicated expression, she elaborated: “Queen Amidala allowed a leave to be taken by one of her most trusted Handmaidens. Padmé Naberrie was not able to be there at every step of the consolidation of the RRM, but she could sometimes be there when people were freed and were given options.” 

“Padmé Naberrie was a risk taker and it hasn’t changed much,” Rex grumbled in his caf. 

“And you worry too much,” she told him. The brief exchange gave Anakin a moment to compose himself. 

“The last time I talked to Shmi, she told me she was sending you a message for your birthday, like she did every year,” she said softly. 

“I—She— I never knew—“ Padmé politely ignored Anakin trying to wipe his face. “I’m glad that…and, I— Thank you. For telling me.” He cleared his throat. “So what is she doing, that you are certain she’s safe? Freeing people is not safe.” 

“I cannot give you the details, for the sake of the whole movement—you are still a Jedi, Anakin,” she added as he opened his mouth with a frown, “and thus an agent of the Republic. Some things you are better off not knowing. She knows the risks of running the trail, of even just gathering information, and she’s not alone, that I can guarantee you. All I know is that she’s close to a few farmers and that she goes to them to take breaks, and that she’s safe there.” 

“Okay. Okay.” He breathed deep again. “Can you— can I get in touch with them? Just to make sure. I can’t— I keep dreaming about her in pain and they are not just nightmares, the Force is telling me I have to go there, I have to be sure—”

She exchanged a glance with Rex. Going off to Tatooine on the strength of a dream, even one sent by the Force, was not the most sensible course of action. Under other circumstances, she’d have gone with Anakin; Padmé owed Shmi much. At the present, she couldn’t go: she was needed for what the aftermath of Jango’s clones leaving Kamino and blowing the situation out in the open within the Republic would bring. However, on a very pragmatic level, getting Anakin, Jedi and agent of the Republic, out of their way was not a bad course of action.

“My ship is ready,” she reminded Rex in the Lake Country’s dialect. 

He frowned in answer. “I hope you are not planning to go running off to the Outer Rim,” he said in the same language.

“You could go with him.” She saw Rex’s eyes narrow, him assessing the situation and coming to the same conclusion she had: getting Anakin out of here was to their advantage.

“Tatooine is also right next to Geonosis,” Jango said in Mando’a. Padmé whirled around on the bench, not having heard him come in. Anakin had jumped to his feet. Only Rex stayed where he was. Jango continued in the same language: “Wolffe hasn’t checked-in—he’s late.” 

“One trip, two goals?” Rex looked much more interested in the prospect of checking in on his brother than by going to Tatooine. 

“Get a second Jedi’s eye on the factories on the ground too, get another semi-impartial witness,” Jango agreed with a head jerk at Anakin. 

“Mind telling me whatever that was in Basic?” Anakin snarled. 

Jango looked at him, then at Padmé, deferring to her. She glanced at Rex, who nodded once. Anakin’s hackles visibly rose at the byplay. 

“Rex will bring you to Tatooine,” Padmé said in Basic, dragging Anakin’s attention back to her and the situation before he made demands. “I’ll give you the contacts you need.”

He looked between her and Jango, expressions moving too fast across his face. “What’s the catch?” 

“There’s no catch.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, _Senator,_ for not believing you.”

“Have you heard from Obi-Wan recently?” 

The apparent change in topic caught him by surprise—angry surprise. He had read that as a threat.

She raised a hand to cut him before he even started. “We believe we know where he is, and that’s the same place someone we should have heard from by now but haven’t is: a planet only two parsecs from Tatooine called Geonosis.” 

Anakin’s eyes narrowed. “So not content with my mother’s, you are now dangling my master’s life in front of me?” 

She stared at him, at a loss on how she could possibly answer that. 

“Mind how you address the Senator, Padawan Skywalker,” Rex said, getting up. Anakin turned to look at him, and Rex continued: “Do whatever you want, I’ll be going to Tatooine to check on your mother, and then Geonosis to find my brother. If there’s a stranded Jedi on the way, I’ll give a hand.” 

Anakin spluttered. “What—?” 

Rex raised his chin and faced, suddenly looking very, very much like Jango despite the blond hair and the younger face. “You were all ready to dash out on your own this morning. Make up your mind and use the situation to your advantage.” 

+

Cody refused to be further than a room away from her the rest of that day, throwing himself entirely into his bodyguard duties. He and Rex had had the time for a quick goodbye before Rex, Anakin and Artoo left, but that hadn’t been much help—not much would be, for their first significant separation. 

Padmé was all too aware that depending on how things went on Geonosis, that separation could very well become permanent.

“Stop,” Cody told her by the time lunch was served—outside again, at the same table as the day before. He had sat down to eat with them instead of standing behind her. 

“Stop what?”

“We choose to follow and work for you. We choose the risks, too.” 

There was nothing she could say to that. She could hardly stop worrying about them—about Rex, about Cody, about Boba and Jango finally free at her table, about the people she had left on Coruscant, about the people who chose to give their loyalty to her and her plans. She met Jango’s eyes. Their plans.

The rest of the day passed in the tense expectation of news. Even at top speeds, Rex would not reach Tatooine until the middle of the coming night for Varykino, and depending on where Shmi was, he would not reach Geonosis and news from Wolffe before the next day at the least. 

Her comms and datapads stayed silent and useless in her office. The blackout was inconvenient now, but maintaining that charade might still get them something—some cover for Anakin until he inevitably followed Rex to Geonosis, spurred on by wanting to find his master and wanting to know what they had been keeping from him, at least. She wanted to know how things were going on Coruscant, what Dormé and Jar Jar had heard, how to continue reaching out to the Separatists, if that was even an option still on the table. 

“I enjoyed last night,” Jango said. He didn’t announce himself any other way, just said what he had to say and leaned against her desk. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled back, leaving his forearms bare. She was tempted to reach out and feel his skin and his scars against her palm. 

She felt that feeling again, blooming within herself. “I enjoyed it, too.” That was one thing she had learned though the invasion and the mad flight across the galaxy and her life as a monarch then a senator: enjoy the moment, cherish the gifts of life. She had the suspicion Jango knew that as well, learned through different circumstances. She smiled at him. “I would enjoy it if you would stay with me again tonight.” 

He smiled back at her. Then, “Come out. Teach my son to swim in calm waters.” She thought of the day before, watching Rex and Boba play in the water and thinking she hadn’t played in the water or swum for pleasure in years. 

She stood up. “Will you join us?” She threaded her arm through his. 

When she looked at his face, he was squinting. “What are feela eels, and do they feed during the day?”

Padmé burst into laughter. 

+

The comm Jango kept on him at all times beeped as Padmé and Jango were awake but still in bed, her head on his chest and their hands joined. 

“Don’t have much time,” Rex said in the Lake dialect, “We’re about to get to hyperspace: Shmi’s been killed, and we’re en route to Geonosis.”

Padmé frowned, focusing on Rex’s words rather than reacting; Shmi dead was unthinkable. She pushed it to the side, firmly clamping down on her emotions for the moment. “What happened?” 

“Hard to say. According to the farmers, it was a raid from the people who live in the desert, except it wasn’t normal behavior. Skywalker went on a rampage, brought the body back. We got a short-wave from Kenobi via Artoo that was relayed to Coruscant the moment he came back to the farm—so now we’re running to Geonosis and the weapon factories.” In short: Kenobi had found what they had hoped he would find, he had given word to the Jedi Council, and Anakin was going exactly where Jango and she had hoped he could be placed. 

The call dropped before Jango could ask anything or Rex could say anything more. 

Padmé closed her eyes, clutching the sheet in her fist. She heard the rustle of fabric next to her, Jango breathing. 

“I hate this,” she breathed. 

She heard Jango move before she felt his hand on hers. “How goes that poem of yours, _Forget not the choice taken in knowledge and celebrate loyalty_?” 

“ _Forget not the choice/of one taken deliberately_ ,” she said, in the Lake Country’s dialect. For a moment, she allowed herself to hate the epic. “ _For their loyalty/is their greatest gift._ But it also says: _Forget not your responsibility/to the last of your soldiers your life belongs/trust is the easiest jewel to lose_.” She took a breath. “How do you reconcile both? Knowing that loyalty to what you work and fight for can kill?” 

“You do your best.” Jango’s eyes were haunted. “You do your best, and you keep going.” 

He held her when she allowed herself to cry for Shmi.

Padmé busied herself that morning composing the message she would send to her personal contact at the Banking Clan. It was more than possible it would leave too late—but it was something to do, and a briefly shared history would at least allow her to get an answer from Rush Clovis, even if it was just a “I can’t share that information.” 

She’d have much preferred to be the one moving through the sands of Geonosis, blaster at her side and the young men who had given so much of themselves to her, to them, in sight.

It was another day passed in tense anticipation. Rex sent no update once he and Anakin were estimated to have reached Geonosis. 

“I was under the impression that Naboo culture didn’t do that much.” 

Padmé tilted her head up at Jango. He was standing by the window watching the rainfall that had started at midday, while she was seated on the couch, next to the small lunch Teckla had served. Boba had persuaded Cody to go eat in the kitchen. He seemed to have taken upon himself to cheer up his older brother in Rex’s absence, or keep him company if cheering up was not possible. “Have relationships?” 

“Sharing intimacy with people they are not married to.” 

She looked at him. There was something here, something more—maybe, probably, the thing they hadn’t given a name to and had been dancing around and with since the day he arrived and longer still, the thing with a very unfortunate timing. She had known and worked with him for five years, pursued a closer relationship—as much of one as he under constant scrutiny when not on a job and she under constant scrutiny and with next to no privacy could have—for three. There was no good timing, not with who they were, what they did, what they planned to do.

“For my social class—without going into my career—marriage is about strengthening alliances, or political power, or money, or all three of them, and it is not a decision taken lightly. While there are happy marriages, it is not uncommon for married people to have long-lasting partners outside of those, for companionship and intimacy. Some of those are more lasting and more honest relationships than the marriages, if you look at it as people committing to a common life and building a family.”

Jango made a non-committal noise. She knew some tenets of Mandalorian culture through her political acquaintance with Duchess Satine Kryze, but through hints and some of the things Jango had taught Cody and Rex, she knew Mandalorian culture was not monolithic and Jango had not been raised within the current mainstream branch of it. Marriage, she knew, was an alliance of clans with the promise to share resources and raise children, creating a solid network that had been an essential building block of a culture nomadic for generations.

“Would you?” he asked her. 

“Would I what?”

“Take a lover outside of your marriage. Or marry without honesty.” 

She looked at him, giving his question the time and weight it deserved. The light from outside was soft, a gray-blue tint that suited him—he was wearing a soft-looking shirt that bared his forearms and his throat again. Marriage had rarely been something she had thought about more than the political power and alliances she would bring to one, and the consequences of that. It was not something thought of lightly. “No,” she said. “To both of your questions.” 

She rose from the couch. They had barely touched the lunch. Neither of them did well with having to wait without action, and for now there was nothing else they could do but wait. 

She stopped just behind and to the right of him, close enough to touch if they breathed. He could see her in the reflection of the window. 

“What is the Mandalorian stance on intimacy and marriage?” 

“Marriage is— _ba'jur bal beskar'gam, ara'nov, aliit, Mando'a bal Mand'alor—an vencuyan mhi.”_ Padmé had heard the rhyme before, knew it as the core of the Mandalorian heritage Jango had passed on to all the clones he could. “ _Aliit_ is tribe and family. One needs alliances and numbers for safety, marriage is one aspect of that. It’s a promise that with that person or persons, you are going to be part of an _aliit_ , and share responsibilities, including the raising of children. Finding intimacy outside of it, outside your _aliit_ , with people who have no intention to join that alliance, is considered unusual.” He took a breath, chest rising and almost brushing her. He was still looking outside. 

No good timing, and the best timing. Padmé breathed. It wouldn’t be easier if he was looking at her. 

“Marry me,” she said. 

He turned around; his head, first, and then all his body following, brushing against her. 

She stood, and waited. His gaze search her, searched through her. He raised a hand, finally, fingers along her jaw, thumb brushing her lips. 

" _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde_ ,” he said. He covered her mouth with his palm before she could do more than take a breath, warm and calloused. “No, don’t say anything yet. That’s my tradition: it means that we are one when together, we are one when we are apart, we share all, we will raise and guide others, children, as mandalorians. Once you repeat it, we’ll be married in the eyes of a dead mandalorian branch. I never—“ His mouth twisted. “I’ve stood alone with revenge for a long time. I bring poor relations to that alliance, especially to a former planetary leader. I bring bad decisions and unknown enemies and I’ve seen too many people I loved die.” He did not ask if she was sure: he knew her well. This was for him. 

She smiled, slowly, behind his hand, before raising hers. She pushed his down, kept holding on, kept looking him in the eye.

“I’ve given my life to my people since I was fourteen, I have little to no privacy, I have powerful enemies, and this has terrible timing but neither of us has the privilege of having control over their time and life.” She shook her head a little, brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. She looked up at him again. “You trusted me with the lives of Rex and Cody four years ago, you trust me by your side and in reach of your weapons, you trust me with Boba. I trust you with everything I have.” 

He leaned, and they stood, forehead to forehead. The rain, outside, came down harder, battering the window. 

She repeated his words. This was for them. 

They could have this.

+

Cody’s only comment was “Finally.” 

Boba asked if they would have a Naboo wedding, too. 

Padmé glanced at Jango, and imagined him in the same rich blues and greys he favored in a Naboo cut, her parents and family around them. Then she imagined the added political element, the pomp and artifice if word got out—Queen Jamillia would probably offer the gardens of the palace, and the Chancellor would muscle his way into attending. No, this was not any kind of wedding party she wanted. She wanted simpler. She wanted him in his armor on the northern patio, her in a white dress, Boba his witness, Rex and Cody as hers, her parents and sister present, and Sabé if she was in-system and no more. 

She said so. 

Cody looked like she had hit him in the head. 

“Is it such a surprise?” She asked him, softly. 

“It. I don’t know how to answer that,” he said. She took his hand, and tugged him down to sit on the couch by her. Jango rose, collecting Boba on the way. Soon it only Cody and Padmé were in the small room. She did not let go of his hand. 

“I don’t know how to answer that,” he repeated, and she raised her other hand to touch his unscarred cheek. Cody let himself be led, and she kissed his brow. He leaned against her, hiding his face in her neck. 

+

The call came as evening fell, on the main comm of the house. It was the signal they had waited for and dreaded.

Padmé had expected bad news. She hadn’t been able to imagine <i>that</i>.

“The fool. The absolute, incompetent fool.” Padmé could only stare at her datapad in shock, where the information packaged with the holocall was scrolling. 

The newly-minted Grand Army of the Republic, commanded by the Jedi Council, had been deployed to Geonosis. The Republic had attacked one of the strongholds of the Confederation of Independent System, directly at the heart of their capital.

Master Yoda was at the head of the attack. She had _met_ Master Yoda, they’d had a few exchanges on the limits of Jedi involvement in Republic affairs after the Trade Federation invasion of Naboo. This, this made no sense. 

That Palpatine had laid claim to the army in the name of the Republic, laid claim to <i>sentients</i>, was unfortunately not so surprising. The Chancellor had proved time and time again he was able and willing to abuse power.

But for Master Yoda to lead them into this mess, when no Jedi was a military commander— how many had died? How many clones would never have the choice to make of their lives what they wanted? She didn’t want to look at the numbers, the absence of names glaring, the possibility that Rex’s and Wolffe’s were lost among them.

Jango took one step to her side of the desk, and she gave him the datapad without a word. He looked. His jaw clenched, his face paled in rage. 

He gave her a minute shake of the head: Rex and Wolffe were not listed. But he knew who those numbers belonged to, which names they’d had, who they had been.

“This is a clear escalation of hostilities in the Separatist crisis; a unilateral declaration of war, with the attack directed by a body that, while it upholds the laws of the Republic, is not part of the Judiciary or the armed forces of the Senate.” Queen Jamillia visibly composed herself, hands clenched in her lap. Eirtaé, who had been one of Padmé’s doubles as Queen and became one of the most respected political advisors at the Palace, stood behind her, rigid with anger. “As Queen of Naboo, I cannot dictate your thoughts as Senator of the Chomell sector. However it is my office and duty to see that just and fair laws are upheld by the Republic, that just and fair decisions are taken—it is my duty to keep memories alive. Senator Amidala, I trust your judgment.” 

The words of Berenko came to mind, unbidden: _Hear not the clamor, for your duty beckons/Yours is to lead and theirs is to defend_ / _In the quiet eye of the storm shall you sit/Witness for their memories to live._ Padmé felt a shiver run down her spine. She inclined her head, just enough to be picked by the holoprojector. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

“Manda’lor,” Queen Jamillia addressed Jango, and he stopped her with a curt shake of his head before she could finish. 

“I haven’t had a claim to the title in twenty years, Your Majesty.” 

“Master Fett,” she conceded, “you claiming the title might give a certain amount of protection to the troops who’d refuse to follow the Republic’s orders as their army.”

He followed her thought. “If they were also claimed as Republic citizens via Mandalorian adoption, and I took the title as Manda’lor in exile.” 

“The clone army is for all intents and purposes an army made of slaves, and no Republic citizen may be enlisted by force into an army. Claiming them and getting them Republic citizenship via Mandalorian customs would be enough to at least disrupt their deployment.” Eirtaé continued: “As for Mandalore itself, Naboo has friendly relations with the Duchess Satine Kryze, but we are not formally allied with the current Mandalorian government aside from general Republic relations. As they have been neutral since the civil war and have just renewed neutrality status in the current situation as leader of the Council of Neutral Planets, this might give us enough leeway to offer sanctuary to a government, and a people, in exile.” 

From previous conversations she’d had with Jango, Padmé knew this was an oversimplification of the Manda’lor title and power, and of the political situation of the Mandalorian Sector; the title and place of Manda’lor in the government had all but been stricken out of existence before the civil war. She also knew it could hold long enough to offer a more long-term solution. She laid her hand on Jango’s arm. He glanced at her. 

“It could also turn into a political mess, with accusations from the Republic and the current Mandalorian government of me creating an army literally in my image.” He shook his head. 

“Cody and Rex Adate might be enough of a precedent to offer asylum and Naboo citizenship to any clone who’d ask,” Eirtaé pointed out. “The Refugee Relief Movement could also help channel some numbers out.”

Those points had been touched on in the past, as possibilities. Now that they needed to set things in motion, it did not feel like enough. 

Nothing felt like enough. 

“I’ll be needed on Coruscant, if I am not already too late,” Padmé told them. “I will not be the only Senator pushing back against both the army and this— this declaration of war.”

Jango put the datapad down and moved away from the desk, to the window. Padmé watched him. He would have to stay either on Naboo or on the move. Mandalore was another possibility. Just not Coruscant, not now, not when they did not know who to trust— but she doubted he’d agree. Coruscant would not be safe for her either. 

As she saw it, neither of them could go find Rex and Wolffe. They had to trust that they would be able to send word and regroup—and possibly escape, if they had been found in the aftermath by the forces on the ground. 

Padmé turned her attention back to the holo. “Eirtaé, could I ask you for a favor? Can you discreetly run a certificate of civil marriage by non-Naboo rite, and backdate it to yesterday?” 

Eirtaé barely paused. It wasn’t the strangest thing Padmé had asked for. “Of course, I can have it done right away. Which names does it need to be drafted for, and which tradition?” 

Jango came back to her side. Padmé stared straight at the holo.

“Jango Fett and Padmé Naberrie Amidala, Mandalorian.”

“May the joining of your houses be a guiding star for all in the many days and nights to come.” The ancient blessing, coming from the lips of the Queen after barely a pause, sounded like an omen. 

Eirtaé had stopped moving for only an instant, taking in the news, before her right hand had moved through a series of signs Padmé hadn’t seen in years and had no problem understanding. As soon as was possible, she was warned—although threatened was more accurate—all the handmaidens, former and current, would descend on her for good wishes and demands to meet her spouse. The meeting would probably involve sparring at some point, both mental and physical. 

Padmé had the vivid image of all the handmaiden facing an equal number of clones and she could not help but be both warmed and hopeful at it. That meeting would need to happen, as soon as possibly feasible: the two groups had far too much in common. 

“Will you need a statecraft to return to Coruscant?” Eirtaé asked. “I noticed your personal craft was not available.” 

“Rex took it on assignment,” Padmé answered, “and yes, please.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Jango told them. She looked at him. “I’ll bring you there myself.”

“No, that’s—“ _too dangerous, too much of a gamble, we don’t know who to trust_ the end of the sentence died on her lips. 

“I can’t stay here, it’d negate what good Naboo can do for the others—even the marriage license might be an obstacle.” 

“Do not worry about this, Master Fett,” Eirtaé said. “We are very good at what we do.” Padmé had no doubts it’d be processed and buried in such a way only select people would be able to find it. 

The Queen smoothed her skirt with both hands. “I’ll ensure the matters regarding the RRM and the possibility of fast-tracking Naboo citizenship with the precedent of Cody and Rex Adate are taken care of.” She took a breath, then looked straight at Padmé: “Senator— Padmé. Godspeed.” 

Padmé inclined her head in return, feeling more than seeing Jango do the same at her side. The holocall ended. 

“Coruscant is not safe,” she said—a statement of fact and a question all in one.

“It’s not safe for you either.” 

She turned her head to look at him and they smiled at each other, acknowledging the truth of their vows: neither brought peace to this alliance. 

In the thick of the storm as they were, their safety wasn’t —couldn’t be— their priority. They had the safety of thousands to ensure first, they had a galaxy to keep from falling apart. And if the galaxy—the Republic—could not be kept intact, there were other plans, other changes, to put into place. 

“I’ll leave the politics to you,” he said. She got up, picked the datapad. Everything else could stay here. They left the office to pack up what wasn’t already in bags ready to be taken. 

“What is your plan of action, then?” 

“At least one fully-crewed Destroyer will be presented to the Senate. There are many people who owe me who can smuggle people off of Coruscant.” There was a breath hanging, words left. 

She placed a hand on his arm. “We have to trust Rex and Wolffe made it out.” 

“You think it’s too dangerous to go find them.” If she didn’t know better, she’d think him able to read her thoughts. “I think the Senate is more dangerous than it has ever been.” 

It seemed surreal to speak of this here, in the hallway of an ancient villa lighted by soft warm light as the night was falling outside. 

It seemed surreal to contemplate plans that now went beyond freeing people and stopping a war that seemed all too happy to be declared. 

“ _Stand, and face the dark/for the bell of duty has rung/and know where your enemies lies/always closer at hand than allies in shadows_.” 

Jango made a snorting noise. “ _Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc_. I think your poet would have made a good mando.”

Cody and Boba were waiting for them in the foyer of the first floor, packs in hand. 

“We’re coming with you,” Boba said, shoulders squared and chin lifted up. He looked at his father in the eyes, then Padmé. 

They didn’t have the time to think about a reply that Cody was speaking: “Our family’s already scattered enough.” He held up one of the two packs in his hands like he hadn’t just thrown the verbal equivalent of a detonator in their midst. “I already packed what you’ll need for the journey.” 

She took the pack, dropped the datapad in. 

Cody continued: “Accu and Teckla have been warned, the house will be put on stand-by the moment we leave.” 

Boba and Jango were holding a whole conversation with just eyes and eyebrows. After a few minutes, Jango’s lips twisted in an expression that was neither a smile nor a frown. “The _Slave I_ will be cramped.”

Cody took a step back, the mask and person of her bodyguard falling in place once again. “After you, My Lady, Mand’alor.” 

The look Jango gave Cody would have felled a weaker being. Cody stood and gave it right back. 

“We can discuss the finer points of names and politics on the way,” Padmé said, and she was the first to step away and leave for the front doors, trusting that Jango, Boba, Cody— that her husband and her family would follow. 

Three days and she was leaving again, but it had been three days that had changed everything, for the better and for the worse.

There was much to do.


End file.
